Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Joa rolled Balta into bed. The big man had one or two, or possibly six, too many beers, and he was getting damn maudlin, muttering in a broken Portuguese that he barely understood.
“Bed, Balta. Sleep. Tomorrow will be better, sim? Tomorrow will seem so much better. Normal.”
At least he hoped so.
He imagined tomorrow would bring a bad headache and a greasy stomach.
Balta grabbed his head, kissed it, and he brushed the thick wing of hair off the beloved forehead. “My demon. Sleep.”
Soon the quiet breaths turned to low snores, proving that his Balta had given up his fight and was sleeping.
He made sure Balta was comfortable and covered and had access to aspirin before he headed back out, hunting somebody to talk to.
It wasn’t late. Lord knew Balta had started drinking early, and Joa could use some of the barbecue that had been cooking when he’d gone to call Balta to dinner the first time.
He couldn’t believe it. Jason Scott blind.
That was a shame.
Still, he had to admit, he thought Coke’s idea was good. He didn’t think, though, that that was what the trouble was. Not really.
That wasn’t Balta’s hurt.
Balta’s hurt was that he wasn’t the first one told or the second or the third. Hell, if it hadn’t been AJ’s family having a wreck and everyone having to come to help, maybe Balta wouldn’t have known at all.
And that made Balta feel like an outsider again. After all these years. He felt betrayed by his friends. And Joa knew how protective his Balta was, too. He would have been the first man to help.
Andy Baxter was sitting outside on the porch smoking a cigarette when Joa stepped out.
He nodded to the man, trying not to snarl.
“Hey Ju-wa, how’s it going?”
He would have said “fine.” He would have no question if it weren’t for that Ju-wa. His name was Joa. “I just put Balta to bed.”
“Good.” Andy took a long drag from his smoke. “He okay?”
He lifted his chin. “Y’all hurt him bad, not letting him know about Jason and all. He would have helped from the get-go.”
He knew Andy Baxter didn’t give much credit to them because they weren’t American, but he was, and Balta was a better man than any of them.
Andy rolled his eyes. “Coke’s gonna tell the whole damn world.
I just wanted it to be me and Coke who knew, and then we had to tell AJ, and then, and then, and then, and then, and then, and then!
” Andy’s voice kept getting louder. “You don’t know.
” Andy got up, stood, got right in his face. “You don’t know!”
He bumped chests with Andy. The man wanted to fight, he could fight. He knew how.
“I don’t know what?”
“He didn’t want to live no more. I had to do something. I had to fix it, don’t you see?”
Joa got that.
He couldn’t think of anything worse than not being able to see nothing.
Jason couldn’t drive no more, couldn’t ride no more, couldn’t read no more. He couldn’t watch TV, couldn’t play video games, couldn’t make stuff.
The idea made him sick.
Still, that was between Jason Scott and God.
“If Coke says he can do it, he can do it. Pharris knows stuff, so does Balta. Balta is good at getting in the way of cameras and everyone’s used to it.”
Andy Baxter nodded. “I know. I’ll apologize to the man. It wasn’t on purpose. If it was up to me, we wouldn’t tell nobody, but this is all bigger than me now.”
“It is if you want this to actually happen.” Sometimes he wanted to just shout at Andy in Portuguese, but that wouldn’t do any good.
He would feel better though because he could say all sorts of things, and the man wouldn’t understand him one bit.
“I’m glad you’re going to apologize to Balta though.
He’s torn up. He feels like Jason is his friend. ”
Andy tilted his head. “Jason is his friend.”
“Then it’s you who ain’t?”
“What the hell are you talking about? We’re friends.” Andy’s fist clenched so hard they squeaked. “Get some sense, for fuck’s sake.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean what it means.” Andy’s eyes flashed. “You think when they figure out that we knew about Mini that we ain’t all going to pay for it? That we won’t get thrown off the tour? All of us? Up to and including Balta?”
Oh, Jesus.
“All of us got shit to lose here — the bullfighters and the clown most especially. You think they won’t get rid of you in a second? Your ass is fucking grass. They catch wind of this, and that y’all knew? Shit, Joa, we weren’t being mean. We were being friends.”
Joa hung his head, feeling bad for everything.
He felt bad for Andy Baxter being in this position.
He felt awful for Jason losing everything and trying to get it back in any way he could.
He knew Balta wouldn’t care about the risks, not one bit.
Balta had been a champion. He could lose bull riding and still have his life.
Of course, if he lost bull riding, he had his ranch, he had his parents, he had Balta.
He was a cowboy. No matter what.
Joa held out one hand to Andy Baxter. “You have our word, we will help you and we will stand up for Jason.”
The cigarette in Andy Baxter’s fingers trembled, the ash falling off.
Andy grabbed his hand, shook it. “Thank you, Joa. You’ll tell Balta, won’t you?
I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings none, just…
This is a lot, and I’m trying so damn hard, and then there’s, Sam and, shit man — Mini gets blind, I break my leg, Coke breaks his neck and his hand twice.
Dillon fucked up his shoulder and Sammy — fuck me— poor Sammy, so fast, just in six months, so fast.”
Tears stung Joa’s eyes. “So much. It is so much that’s bull riding.” No, it was always one damn thing after another. “We have your back and Jason’s. Balta believes in Sam. Things will get better.”
They had to have faith. That was the only thing that got people through sometimes.
It was the only answer.
Faith, hope, and love.
“You want a smoke, Joa?”
He nodded, even though he didn’t. He knew this was friendship, and he would take it even if it tasted like ashes.
Then he would wash out his mouth, go hold Balta, and pray.